chomp

I am, apparently, the tastiest human being in Hong Kong. My grandma says it's because I wear shorts, but that's just the old-fashioned talking. Plenty of other people wear shorts, but I am still the only one sporting angry red mosquito bites all over my legs. (Twenty-five on my right leg, twelve on my left. I counted) And anyway, I can't wear jeans, I am already dying in shorts and a tank top, while the locals thronging around me in the streets walk by in jeans and cardigans like it's not 97 degrees out with 90 percent relative humidity.

The streets are so crowded my hand sometimes swings into someone else's, and I find myself accidentally holding hands with random people for just an instant as we brush past each other. I feel sticky everywhere, which just makes the itching even harder to bear. I long to stop and scratch, but it's too crowded, and I don't want people looking at me funny. It's no use anyway, people walking by give me the up and down, stopping short when they see my red polka dot legs. If only they knew, I am delicious. I am the one to chomp. Apparently.